


in flagrante delicto

by artsies



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Falling In Love, M/M, Pining, a series of one-night stands, my overuse of italics is criminal im sorry, snarking depressed genius idiots, weird timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 08:29:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14304795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artsies/pseuds/artsies
Summary: It was a bit like Ragnarok, really, because Tony Stark made him come undone at his seams, made him open and broken and honest every night just so he could put himself back the way he was (almost the way he was) by the burning rays of dawn.It's the secret they share in the corner of their eyes in every battle.





	in flagrante delicto

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this sometime 2012-13(?). After Avengers came out but before the next Iron man movie, I think. As it often happened with the fics on LJ back then, it takes place in this weird timeline that assumes Loki eventually makes his way to Earth and becomes a regular problem of the villanous sort, much like in the comics. That being said, the emotional charge is from the first Thor movie and the Iron man movies of the time.

They were both a bit too tipsy and a bit too bitter the first time it happened, bumping into each other at the same bar; everything, the snarks and the conversation - both of them needing to talk about something else than that hollow ache in their chests, (his brother and Stark's broken heart) -, and then the hot want and grateful moans, tucked away into the darkest night of their lives, fell into place naturally, without questions and regrets. Neither of them thought it would happen again - or at least, Loki didn't - until their paths crossed weeks later, among the blur of alcohol and mourned dreams. Then… another bar, and then another smoke-filled haze, and yet another glass of whiskey left half-empty. It was a bit like Ragnarok, really, because Tony Stark made him come undone at his seams, made him open and broken and honest every night just so he could put himself back the way he was (almost the way he was) by the burning rays of dawn. And he wanted it, craved it, the touch, the voice -

"Come on.", Ironman breathes against his - well, her at the moment - neck as he smothers him with kisses, pressed against the hotel room door, and Loki complies, kicking off his high heels and lazily letting his bones and skin and all reorganize to be a man again. Would he be with anyone else, it would embarrassing, standing there in woman's one piece dress that's a shade too tight for this body, but Stark looks at him like it's all he could ever want, and breathes, "Yes, perfect."

And if Loki would be the type thatʻs honest with himself (but he isnʻt), heʻd admit that he really wouldn't like to live without that sigh in his life anymore, without these little adult meetings of theirs, without the feel of his hands on him, the way he _wants_  him, caressing his sides, lips hungry on his, bodies pressed together and molding into one, deep and bitter and sensual; it warms his insides that are ice-cold, makes him forget just who or what he is. Itʻs a rare gift from fate, this thing, and his hands shift from Tony's bicep to lower, eager for contact and touch and warmth, needing more, more and more.

"Oh no you donʻt." Tony breathes at him as he grabs his hands and pushes them back against the door, clamping down on his wrists with a strong grip, and Loki smiles.

(At least he got this in return for loosing everything else he had in Asgard.)

Here, in this half-forgotten planet he can be himself; he can lay with a man as a man without scorn and guilt, and what's more, Tony Stark won't tell anyone how he likes to be lost in his embrace, not having to be clever or guarded, pushed and pulled and ordered by him throughout the night; he won't tell, because it's not mean, not selfish, like that of any other warrior, no; it's sweet and passionate, the love he cannot give to anyone (perhaps someone, but Loki would rather not think about that) poured onto him instead.

It's the secret they share in the corner of their eyes in every battle.

\- - -

"Hey." he says, and Loki looks up from his book at him, a glass of whiskey waiting patiently nearby. His smile is elegant, calm, _royal_ , but Tony can remember the ragged breaths and moans as he takes him, his whines and their obscene sounds, and it makes his blood flow faster. "Mind if I sit with you, blue angel?"

(They always start this way, no matter what form of woman the trickster takes - he always taps twice on the desk at that last part -, and he can't help but to stick to the familiar words, even if it might seem foolish to someone like Loki… Then Loki taps twice on the desk, and his heart beats back twice in return as he takes a seat in the booth.)

"Have you been here long?"

"Not that long."

(Liar, liar, pants on fire. Tony knows he's been here for two hours at least; he himself was standing at the bar the whole time, watching as he read in the dim light of the pub.)

"How is the villainy going?"

"Same old, same old. What of your heroics?"

"I could use some sleep in it's place sometimes. Living with two super-blondes and two highly trained agents are not very good for my working hours, or my psyche for that matter. And let's not talk about the Hulk.", Tony shrugs as he gulps his alcohol; he doesn't remember how many he has had already, and a rueful smile crosses his lips which he quickly turns insolent. "But I'm sure it's just as tiring to keep your army in line."

He watches those long, slender fingers play on the rim of the glass, slow and absent-minded for a moment before his gaze shifts to Loki's pale visage, the soft olive of the scarf wrapped around his neck, the green of his eyes, the gentle smile of thin lips that the sharp glare can't quite mask.

"Give Thor a glass of honeyed milk before bed, and he won't snore. I don't know about your darling Captain though."

(How does he even do that, Tony wonders, and tries to tell himself that Loki canʻt see his thoughts.)

"Ah, Captain just needs to sleep near a freezer. Old habits die hard, you know."

The sparkle of their eyes howl as they drink, and Tony knows this is why he keeps coming back and talking to him; everyone else is so goddamn perfect and bright and righteous, even Bruce, whereas Loki is cold and hurt and doesn't feel sorry to cut, probably being the only villain he can understand; their edges are shattered and rough, and it's only together they don't feel constantly blamed for not being able to fix it. Sometimes he is sure that there was just as much chance of him using his suit for selfish purposes as becoming an Avenger, and that maybe if someone had taken the time to take Loki to therapy, there'd be no need for them to fight. (Though technically, being Ironman is selfish as it gets, but he ignores that.)

They begin to chatter on about inane things like the weather or their favorite comedy for a long while (and he feels like he can breathe a bit again, and maybe Loki does too), before they arrive at where they both don't want to be: at that haunting, terrible why of their lives (am I alive; father; is it me).

Odd, isnʻt it, a superhero and a villain sitting in a pub and crying over spilt milk, but these are the questions they don't talk about with anyone else, that he can't imagine ever telling anyone else, not if he was tortured, chained to a rock with snake venom dripping into his eyes, - it is only him, this beautiful broken little alien sitting across from him in the smoke-filled, run-down place that is the one person in this whole universe he can admit these to, with those sad green eyes and that screwed-up smile, because they are both lost, frustrated and alone, enough that they don't care anymore, that they are willing to just _talk_ to someone already, for there is only so much self-destruction that can be done… Yet even with each other, they can only manage to say half of what they should.

But that's okay.

They can just about see what the other has left around the corner anyway, and they can be that little voice of hope from their heads that they always wished got embodied, and they can curse at people they don't know for the other's sake, and say things out loud they wouldn't - they can admit defeat.

But it's rare, them doing this. Most of the time, he sits down in front of the pretty girl who taps twice on the table; they flirt, laugh, talk - hell, he has no idea if Loki lies to him, but he wants to believe he doesn't - until they end up in the same bed.

Tonight, it feels wonderful, baring his soul like that to someone who could use it to break him irreversibly.

Tony swallows the last drops, and knows somewhere among his hazy thoughts that if he drinks one more glass, he'll be honestly drunk. He knows he should stop, that voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Pepper says so, but he can't, because it promises the bliss he thinks he hasn't really felt yet; so he moves to get up and get another, but is stopped by a soft hand on his.

"It's pretty late. Walk me home?" Loki says with a smile that's coy and impish at the same time, and Tony has to scoff at the words of their usual routine.

They go back to the motel room he has checked into earlier, and it's everything he needs.

\- - -

Loki watches the many tv screens of the electric appliances store flicker with the scenes of the latest battle, live on the news network; he had come to buy himself a suitable waffle iron, but something among his heartstrings makes him stop in front of the sets instead. A small crowd has already gathered, and it keeps on growing as the fight drags on; he bites his lip just so when Thor is sent flying, crashing into cars.

Stupid, stupid oaf. Why doesn't he ever watch out?

(He knows that is his blind spot that used to be his place to protect.) Sometime in the past, in a happier time of his life that was seemingly not so long ago, he would have teleported there without a second thought, thrown in magic and knives and done all he could, Brodinsons to the last breath, even if it was Thor's utter idiotic idea that got them there. But now, here he stands, leather jacket and comfortable pair of jeans, watching and…

… wishing.

He does not know what he wishes exactly. Thor had never said 'no', after all, and Thor had yelled 'Brother', and kept on yelling even when Loki's mind was lost in a haze of sorrow and anger, with all the fire and debris and made to be ruled. It's sort of hilarious, that for once in their lives, just when they would be most important to him, he is confused as to the thunderer's thoughts - a part of him wants to go there still, be by his side, but another tells him it's futile.

He'd always be the _little_ brother. The incapable. The unacceptable.

The one who doesn't really belong.

(Suddenly, he thinks about Tony's hands on him, his murmur of 'perfect', the gasps and pants of their dark secret. He tries not to.)

Huffing, he watches Mjolnir fly, only to be too late; a blast has already taken down the villain, Ironman grabbing him and pushing him down to the ground. Loki's heart beats a little bit faster, but he is determined to take no notice.

\- - -

"I just wanted to tell you. Because, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, I understand." Tony mutters with a distracted air, focusing more on his fries than at Happy next to him. There is something very similar to pain in his chest, but he refuses to acknowledge it - and he damn well refuses to show it.

"She is not in your league anyway, man.", the park bench jabs into his back, "She's a small town girl from Ohio, blue-collar father and all. And you? You were born a billionaire, raised in the fancy world of big-money, with all the high culture. And you are genius, yah know; it really doesn't help."

Ironman is pretty sure this is the first time someone told him it _sucks_ to be him, and he appreciates Happy's honesty. People like that - caring and honest, even when they want to date the girl most important to you - are hard to find.

"So, are you saying I'm going to die lonely and miserable because I'm rich, intelligent and famous?"

His chauffeur snorts, stealing some of his fries, waving with them in the air as he gestures.

"No, you just need to find someone more like yourself. Intelligent, raised in high-class, probably as messed-up as you."

"So, lonely and miserable it is." Ironman replies with a roll of his eyes, sipping on the last of his soda. He looks off into the distance, at the children running around and the couples swooning, and it makes him just a little bit sick.

Lonely and miserable, yes.

\- - -

"Tony is an odd name for royalty, isnʻt it?", Loki says, leaning heavily on the bar. Maybe that last shot was a bit too far, because he is having a funny tingly sensation all over, like he is made of air, and he can't quite stop what he is saying anymore.

Tony Stark frowns for a minute, leaning in a little closer until their arms are touching; Loki can see that his pupils have become dilated, and oh Audhumla, he is so handsome, rough and polished at the same time, with a smile that's a little bit drunk and crooked, and why, he could kiss those lips until Ragnarok.

"They might say Stark empire love, but I'm no prince, and definitely not charming.", he murmurs, despite the loud music, "I believe in democracy, stupid as people are. Of course… but never mind. If you must know, I am Anthony Edward Stark. Pleasure to meet you."

They laugh and shake hands, then dance to the deafening beat before the genius/playboy/millionaire/philanthropist leaves with a busty blonde who isn't a busty blonde at all.

\- - -

He saw it today, at the battle where Loki suddenly popped in, trying to steal some artifact while they were distracted with Doom, and the trickster shifted into the form of a petite woman to slip out of Thor's bearish grip; Doom looked at him (her) with want right then, and Tony can't stand it.

It's foolish, he knows, because this isn't a relationship where he can lay any claim; nothing is promised but tonight, always just tonight - but the thought, the thought of Loki being in Doom's arms drives him mad, makes his breath come short and his heart pound in his throat… because what has he over Doom? He is no magical super villain with a whole country to rule, he is… he is just Tony Stark, billionaire, _playboy_ , genius, philanthropist. (He knows someone would laugh at being "just" Tony Stark, but this is Loki we are talking about, and he can never be good enough, just like he can never be good enough for donʻtgothereTonydonʻt.)

It makes him feel so powerless and angry, that he doesn't notice he is gripping the other's thigh too tight until he gets a disapproving hiss. He stops, dazed, hand going slack; Loki looks up at him questioningly, mouth pulled in tight line, green eyes unreadable in the dim light.

"Are you angry with me?", his whisper is surprisingly soft, and itʻs either his voice or his face thatʻs lying, "That is… more so than usual."

(Time seems to stand still between them then, hiding in the dark corners of the room where his reactor will not shed light.)

"No.", he breathes finally into their black night, "No. Not with you. Never really with you."

"But it is about me.", comes the quiet reply, fingers sliding against his chest, probably to distract him, twine him around a little finger; Tony huffs.

"Doesn't matter."

(He has to remind himself what this is, has to remind his heart that goes crazy from the look in his eyes that nothing is promised; that he should really, really put those walls back up, because this is Loki who lies and cheats and is an unpredictable maniac on the loose, but then his lips twist in the way that always omens a hidden ace, and Tony can practically feel himself get lost and loosing - just a human after all - and succumbing, he buries his head in the crook of the other's neck, breathes deeply because it makes Loki shiver and thatʻs as much revenge as he can get.)

"Doom looked at you like he would chain you to his throne naked."

To his surprise, Loki sputters and shivers beneath him.

"What?", he whispers furiously, "Doom? Oh by Audhumla, is this truly what upset you, thinking I lay with Doom? Well, you can rest assured, I never have and won't. There is just something unwise in even talking to a man who tried to grow clones of you."

Tony blinks in relief and shock.

"Well… yes. I guess there is."

… And so, having reached this infinite wisdom, they stare at each other, and it stretches on for a bit, this gazing, until Tony finds his funny bone again, leans in close, bites his smile, and whispers,

"Oh, but then Doom could always have Loki in every hour of the day, as Doom rightfully deserves."

Loki hits him with a pillow as revenge.

\- - -

Tony stops his wonderful ministrations when he notices the generously sized dark purple bruise on Loki's arm, right where Thor had managed to land a heavier blow before yesterday, and just as he was in the middle of making off with - unknown to the heroes - a copious amount of ice cream too.

"Oh. You're hurt.", the human mutters, running a gentle thumb along the cold skin. Loki snorts in good humor.

"You forget, I am your enemy, not to mention I grew up with _Thor_. I hardly notice such things."

And it's the rare truth he tells; he has always had a hard time noticing injuries, whether they were a bruise or a shallow cut from a blade, or sometimes the odd burn, - a deeper gash even -; it was like he did not feel them, like his skin was numb, like it was…

… frozen.

His heart nearly stops in his chest; he sits up, making Tony Stark fall back onto the mattress with a surprised grunt, crosses his arms over his stomach at the abrupt chill running down along his spine: all these years! All these years, it was because - because he was a _monster_. A damnable, horrible monster, blue and savage and evil, and he had almost forgotten, here on Midgard, with all these people and fighting Thor until he was only fighting for the sake of fighting; he had almost forgotten, here, in the arms of Tony Stark, what a loathful thing he was.

Oh, would they have mercy on him.

"What's wrong?"

He bows his head, unable to look anywhere but at his own pale and bony hands clutching at his shirt; he thinks about leaving, about never seeing Anthony Edward Stark again outside of the battle field, but Ironman is still there in front of him, trying to catch his gaze, constantly going 'hey, hey', like nothing is wrong in the world, like this isn't injustice and pain and tears, like the world hadn't crippled his soul irreversably, and he can't help himself; there is rage and shame and hatred so deep and compressed wanting to break out that he snaps his head back up, eyes red, letting his skin turn blue and cold, oh so cold. (He'd laugh if he could that the purple bruise turns _orange_ of all colors.) This was who he was, he tells himself, someone disgusting, a savage, lowly being, worthy of only hatred and shame. A frost giant, yes, under that glamour of pale skin and green eyes, a speck of filth in the great beautiful creation that is the cosmos.

Tony Stark's mouth hangs open as he stares, blinking rapidly at him. It's still light in the room, getting close to sundown but not there yet; he can only imagine the stomach-turning sight he'd be in all those oranges and reds, coupled with the core's blue light and his own skin.

He is hideous, and he wants to scream and peel and scratch and cut his own skin off.

"W-wow.", Tony Stark breathes at long last, and Loki takes a silent breath, ready for the rejection to come, "You're gorgeous."

Time stops in that moment, the cosmos shrinking to this one room, to this one bed; to them.

What? … what?!

"I-I'm a monster!", he shrieks, heaves a breath and tries to scramble off the bed, but there is a grip on his arm and a yank backward, and he stares, bewildered because he hadn't expected that, hadn't expected to be touched. And who could blame him? There isn't supposed to be touching after all, not when there is talking, not when one isn't under the covers, - perhaps a punch or two is allowed, maybe a quick pat - and why is Tony Stark pulling him forward?

Loki, second prince of Asgard and currently super villain of Earth, breathes small panicked breaths as he tries to decipher the meaning of an embrace, so alien and so everywhere.

"You're the prettiest thing in the universe, as far as I'm concerned.", Tony murmurs into his hair, and something in Loki's chest begins to burn. He tries to turn away, but only manages to shuffle about in the other's arms.

"Sh-shut up, Stark."

"Aw, come on, don't be like that, _blue angel_.", he feels the reply, the intake of breath, the movement of the jaw, the vibration of the low laugh - it's the kind that makes something in his belly twist in a funny way - as the human snakes his arm around his waist, hot mouth planting kisses on his neck. Loki shivers at the sensation of temperature, nerves going berserk where he is touched, and it feels like he is going to ignite or some such foolishness when Ironman pulls him into his lap, flat against his chest, hands everywhere.

He called him _gorgeous_.

His eyes fall shut in bliss, and he forgets to think about the signal and what the human has just implied.

They kiss, tongues, bites and all. Loki moans, tries to say something, anything at all really, but can only stutter and whimper against the heat and the broad body beneath him rocking up (his pants are way too tight and yes, please), clutching the wide shoulders desperately. He can't quite comprehend all this hotness that's flooding him, mixing with the cold in his veins and bones, overloading his nervous system to the point he feels like his skin is aflame. He wants more, desperately, achingly, craving this touch and warmth from the very depths of himself, and he has never felt anything like this before - his body has never done this (treacherous, traitorous body, and is this in flagrante delicto?).

(And that last thing is probably his only intelligent thought for a while, because then he leans forward, kissing and pinning Tony to the bed, only to be promptly rolled onto his back, hands working on his pants - oh, he is so right, they need to get these things off _now_ , or he is going to die, he swears - and then those hands are gripping his buttocks and it's such a violent sensation, the fingers with the blazing heat inside him that he gasps and arches his back. He hears his lover of sorts moan appreciatively, mouth sucking on his neck, erection rubbing against his as they move and have he the concentration, he'd wonder how Stark isn't getting severe frostbite or being frozen; but like formerly stated, all he can think of are along the lines of yes, please, more and oh Audhumla Anthony fuck me now, which is surprisingly coherent compared to the rest.)

When he does finally slide into him, Loki's legs draped over his shoulders, it's like someone has turned him inside out and then back again, and oh, this must be what Muspell feels like, aflame and alight with a fire that will burn the whole world once Ragnarok comes and then creating the cosmos with the cold and bitter of Nilfheim once more; he loses himself to ecstasy as he gasps and moans and kisses and then finally comes. He feels Tony's shudder and opens his eyes to see him, glorious with all muscles tensed, bliss on his face and spilling from his mouth -

… They lie, crumpled and breathless on the mussed sheets, and Ironman shivers, goosebumps rising on his tanned skin. Loki grabs the blankets and begins to tuck him in with as little actual moving about as possible - the small question of how, exactly, did Tony Stark stay not just alive but aroused shall have to wait for later contemplation when he is capable of remembering and using words above elementary level -, and quickly returns to his usual form, scooting away. To his surprise, there is yet again a firm grip on his arm, and before he could protest he finds himself pulled to Tony Stark's chest, a head sagging against his; he tells himself he merely hasn't the energy left to move, so there they lie, under the covers, sun long since set.

Loki concentrates on a warming spell, trying to keep the burn in his chest from his mind.

\- - -

"You are late yet again, sir."

Tony looks up from his monitor after checking the time - Saturday 9:00 AM - and frowns into his coffee. He was just about to start fixing his suit, which suffered some rather annoying damages during their last run-in with the villain of the day - one of the knee joints got busted, and some of the circuitry is nearing a potentially fatal state - but he knows this thought is going to distract him from the repairs no matter what he does. (He is damn sure he had nothing scheduled for today, or any other day that JARVIS seems to imply, because then Pepper would be gnawing his ears off or trying to kill him with a pen, and sure as hell not letting him live it down; perhaps it's better to get it over with and just ask.)

"What is that supposed to mean?", he says with an all-suffering sigh. Is it too much to ask to let him tinker away in peace like a proper genius should? He had already promised to cut back on the unnecessary explosions, and even that he'd stop using Barton as a test subject (or he'd be the Iron Porcupine, according to the agent)! He blows on his drink while JARVIS actually seems to hesitate - an almost human gesture of tact, and Tony can't help but run his fingers gently over the edge of the keyboard - but then it pulls up a chart to make it's point, making Tony twist his lips in a form of odd amusement.

"You usually return from your nightly excursions before 4:00 AM, in the event that the activity doesn't take place here; recently, however, there have been several cases when you returned past 7:00 AM, all a week apart on average."

Shit, he thinks as he gulps down a larger amount of hot coffee in his surprise, JARVIS is figuring out his hook-ups with Loki! He almost chokes, mouth burning, but manages to survive the ordeal in the end, punctuated with a large gasp for air, stubbornly blinking away the tears.

… Hold on, he thinks a second later, JARVIS is figuring out his hook-ups with Loki? (A week apart?!)

"It is also notable that your efficiency in both running Stark Industries and constructing and/or repairing increases on the following day by 10%, signifying a both physically, mentally and emotionally satisfying event. Since it fits into the pattern of sexual intercourses, may I inquire the name of the partner, so as to engage in further research, determining their suitability for marriage? Please keep in mind that your biological clock is wearing away sir, just as your good looks and charm; we are growing ever more desperately in need of an heir."

(Tony Stark stares in horror at his home operating system. When had it become his snooping mother?)

"Excuse me, but I am not growing bald or fat, so what is with the good looks and charm comment? Men, JARVIS, are like wine: they grow finer with age. Also, there is no one. _No one._ ", he says, staring crossly at the camera in the corner, (unknowingly puffing his cheeks a little), before adding, "And I don't need a kid. I'd be a terrible father."

JARVIS doesn't say anything back, and he takes this as having won the argument; he shuffles around for his number five toolbox, humming 'iron man' as makes his way to his hooked-up suit, letting the box drop with a loud clang on the workbench. His mood is almost back to cheery when the AI blurts,

"Well, I shall need someone to make the occasional repair in the future, when you had finally killed yourself with your alcoholism or in one of your reckless heroics, sir."

Oh, that was low. Tony's eyebrow ticks and he snaps his googles back up his forehead, (he is stuck somewhere between angry and touched), standing up in an abrupt motion and whirling around to look at the camera closest to him with a sharp frown. He opens his mouth, ready to retort, but his creation goes on before he can get a word in. (Dummy rolls forward, the fire-extinguisher wobbling as if in concerned agreement, almost knocking him over.)

"And the quality of the Stark family guarantees a sufficient caretaker, of course. But aside from this, you are my creator: I would like to see your score on the BDI improve, and data of your reactions implies that the extension of your nightly activities could be of aid in this. Popular media also suggests that a happy, stable relationship is desired, along with children. So please sir, who is this new partner?"

"I… that is… there is no one. These are merely one night stands. Well, a series.", he yelps when Dummy actually tackles him, knocking him several steps back, "Okay, it's an affair! But it's nothing emotional, just sex, so stop snooping about! Loki and I-"

"Loki, brother of Thor, currently super-villain and on the top of SHIELD's wanted list?"

Shit, Tony thinks, running his hand through his hair several times in frustration, shit.

"Er… yes?"

"Nice choice sir.", and really, he regrets giving JARVIS the ability to be disapproving. No, scratch that. He regrets giving JARVIS thoughts - whenever that may have happened.

"Hey, he is… really good in bed. And rather pretty when blue, okay? Don't judge me, you are my home operating system, for flying fuck's sake!"

"I shall conduct some more research then."

He gives up at this point, (threatens Dummy that he'll donate him to a community collage) and goes back to fixing his suit, or at least trying to; needless to say, this whole thing totally ruins his concentration. So much so, that he finds himself unable to fix even the microwave Steve had managed to brake, because… marrying Loki…? Dating Loki…? The thought keeps buzzing around in his skull, knocking everything over as it bangs about not just all day, but for the rest of the week. How absurd the whole thing is! They are enemies after all, albeit enemies with benefits - but just benefits. They do nothing but share some pleasure, and some enjoyable small-talk over a few glasses. (Their snark-levels are very compatible indeed. He conveniently ignores those heart-to-heart talks.)

Not to mention the fact that Loki is an alien, (and it's probably not healthy that he is attracted to someone) ancient and beautiful and a little too broken; and Tony is but a human, weak and gone in a blink of those green eyes, nothing but a moment, a speck of something in all that was, is and will be the asgardian's long life; he is a little indulgence on the sideline of Loki's life perhaps, nothing more.

For once in his life, Tony Stark finds himself on the other side of the bed, a shameless one-night fling. (Used.) He doesn't know why it hurts; after all, he knew very well what they were doing, he does… did this all the time… Except no one is quite like Loki, never can the gasps and kisses and moans make his heart throb and his lungs threaten to fold in on themselves like they do with him; never does he find himself wanting to pleasure his partner instead of himself; never is he happier than when a finger taps twice on a table.

(Never is he selfless, but with him.)

And never does he take someone to bed more than once. Even that, in and of itself, should be something strange and special - but between running Stark Industries, being Ironman, inventing new technology for SHIELD and having an actual life, the prince of Asgard was the only lay he'd been getting for months - and he doesn't feel bad about it.

Of course, this doesn't mean Loki doesn't find comfort elsewhere (even if it's not with Doom, per se). Tony is but… a fuck.

There is a monster in his chest, and it has green eyes. He knows he slipped somewhere on the path, but there is nothing to be done now, nothing he can do to save himself, and at least, he still has those nights.

He drinks. (His score begins to rise again.)

\- - -

It's still there, that odd burn. Absentmindedly, he puts a hand on his - her - heart, wondering if it's some sickness he caught in the midst of Midgard. It could very well be; he was, after all, in a completely alien environment. There could be a thing or two lurking out there that was bad for him.

But this burn… it is so different from all that he had ever known before, and he couldn't think for the life of him of an illness that resulted in such a symptom. Admittedly, it has been a while since he read his books on the healing arts, but he prided himself on his good memory.

Loki crosses her legs, enjoying the fact their sight earns looks of want from the men of the bar. There are a couple of them which he could enjoy, should he want, but lately he finds no joy in simply sleeping with whomever.

(It's not because of Tony Stark. No. No, it isn't. He has merely grown bored, he tells himself.)

She decides to leave, the hollow pang of her chest making her evening sour. Perhaps it's time to play a few pranks on the Avengers; maybe he'll animate that dinosaur skeleton from the museum, that sounds like fun.

\- - -

It's nearing dawn now, and Tony wishes with all his heart it wouldn't be so. He lays there in the rickety bed of the inexpensive motel room, arms wrapped around the lithe frame of someone he is supposed to feel nothing for, if not hate. Their legs are tangled, warmth and skin and something else shared; his mouth is but a hairsbreadth away from that smooth neck, and he is tempted to kiss it.

He can't.

But at least he can pretend, before the sun comes up, that they are in love.

\- - -

Soon the time will come, he knows, when that blasted Starkphone will ring and that arm that's keeping him safe and here and alright will disappear, leaving him to be a wretch once more. Loki tries to breathe and commit the moment to memory, a desperate attempt before the inevitable breaking of the day, because it is all that he can have.

He can only imagine that they are in love.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote more, but never quite figured out how to finish it. It involved _jotuns as monogamous creatures_.


End file.
